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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26418667">a flame in two cupped hands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninety6tears/pseuds/ninety6tears'>ninety6tears</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dublin Murder Squad Series - Tana French</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drinking, Emotional Baggage, Estrangement, F/F, Far Future, Julia POV, Legal Work, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:14:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26418667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninety6tears/pseuds/ninety6tears</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Holly and Julia, decades after.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julia Harte/Holly Mackey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Dublin Murder Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a flame in two cupped hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/gifts">Ashling</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Julia kept having a bad urge to shift in her seat, but Dougal would smell her restless discomfort and wonder what was up. At least he finally stopped pacing the length of his office window and sat down like this deserved his attention. Holly sat on her left in an identical chair with an identical steel gaze; their unworded agreement to give no hint that they knew each other had been locked in at the first instant they reached to shake hands.</p><p>Dougal cleared his throat, turning a page in Holly’s older case records. “So I guess insanity pleas are a kind of specialty for you.”</p><p>“I never said that. Your solicitor here did.” Cold as a pick hitting ice, she fractionally tossed her head Julia’s way.</p><p>Julia managed not to flinch. “Miss Mackey, you were suggested by Rhys who you just met on the way in; he thought you would be a good match for a defendant who may not find much understanding in his predicament.”</p><p>“And the insanity defense is certainly trendy,” Dougal said, and gave some kind of languidly scrutinizing glance at both of their tops; they happened to be the same style and fabric.</p><p>Julia’s voice raised a notch. “I don’t think the cynicism is helpful.”</p><p>“It’s late in the day for your attitude, Harte.”</p><p>“If you’re implying that a plea which only became legally legitimate in the nineties has increased in use since then, yes, I would think that the system would and has gradually adjusted to representing the mentally ill. And frankly, Mackey is big on preparation, and will do a much better job trying to take up this case than we will shuffling poor Sullivan around with everything else we’ve got on our plate right now. We’re not here to debate the approach —"</p><p>“For fuck’s sake…”</p><p>Suddenly Holly gave a lost little innocent laugh. “Sorry. I guess I’ve kicked up an ongoing row, haven’t I?”</p><p>As Dougal smiled in performative embarrassment, knocked totally off his rant by the cleanliness of the interruption, Julia felt pained. That was just what Holly would’ve done, back then: put her baby blues up all earnestly concerned, waving her hand to ask a question, so that Sister Cornelius would let go of whatever obscene thing she’d just heard Julia mutter.</p><p>Holly continued, “It might be counterproductive to debate this further before I’ve had a chance to think about it. Like I said, I was only contacted today.”</p><p>Julia sighed. “You know, boss, I think it’s on you that I haven’t had a cigarette since this morning.”</p><p>“All right. Christ. We’ll pick this up on Monday.”</p><p> </p><p>When she was flicking her lighter outside she could sense Holly somewhere behind her shoulder, looking for the merciful invitation to approach, having followed her out here where you could see the tower clock, illuminated in the building dusk, as a distant moon. Julia leaned against the stone breeze blocks to face her, but said nothing.</p><p>Holly adjusted her shoulder bag, crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto a different foot. Finally she opened with, “Big smoker now?”</p><p>Smiling weakly, Julia shook her head. “It’s only every once in a while, but it’s not like he knows that. Sorry, I know you always hated it,” she said, as if she had a reason to apologize.</p><p>“My dad did finally quit. On and off, but. Still better than nothing.”</p><p>“That’s good,” Julia said, floundering in stiff politeness.</p><p>She'd been waiting for the obvious question — <em>What ever happened to journalism?</em> — but Holly would have realized: she knew exactly what had happened. For a second they both nodded stupidly, and then Holly stood there looking down at the grass until Julia thought some spring would pop out of her, the way she could feel the throb of her body ticking. </p><p>“This is so fucked up,” she declared.</p><p>Holly’s laugh was nervous but somehow Julia had cracked through her. She rapidly offered, “You know what I couldn’t stop thinking in there? I’m pretty sure that exact room used to be Mum’s office. Dad met her in there, trying to convince her to give some drug flunky a break.”</p><p>Jeering but careful, Julia replied, “So do I take you to dinner to try to convince you to take up this case?”</p><p>Holly’s smile crackled with distant thoughts. “Yeah. Of course I told you that story at some point.”</p><p>Full mischief now, Julia stared right into her. “And?”</p><p>Through half of that little meeting Julia had insisted to herself she wasn't trying to remember the score. Holly must have thought Julia couldn't help hating her, way back then, but if anything Julia had been well into her twenties still trying to forgive herself for keeping her own secrets and for being such an abrasive little bitch just because the whole thing had hurt so much to even think about. For not telling any of them in any definite way, that she didn't blame them, even if it might have been a lie.</p><p>All the restless ignorance was fucking maddening. Julia didn’t think she could bear the omnipresent questions – <em>have you heard from Becca, when did you last talk to Selena?</em> — not yet, but she was woefully itching to know how much Holly had heard about her, how much she knew Julia knew about Holly. Like the fact that Holly was only seeing women if you could say she was dating at all, or that Julia one time had inadvertently booked an appointment with her Aunt Jackie and then started going to a different salon after that. She wanted to be a blank slate. Or she wanted to be dissected. She wanted to be whatever could keep either of them, all of them, together at least in mind with as little regret as they could hope for. Anything tangible threatened what she remembered, which was full of enough sharp edges already. </p><p>The cold humidity of the evening steamed around Holly’s strange, adult reluctance. She said, “What I need is a drink.”</p><p> </p><p>A couple streets down from the building where Julia lived in a small but prestigiously vintage one-bedroom flat there was a club that had somewhat failed to attract the younger patrons befitting its overdesigned glassware and “ironic” decor, instead becoming a favorite of the working locals. Julia took her there.</p><p>They had a DJ working on the cheap off of his laptop and he gave them a brief nod of appreciation for being two of the very few who wanted to dance. Quickly they found the nook behind the old jukebox that hid them from half the crowds and Julia wouldn’t remember how exactly they danced, her couple glasses of white wine coursing her smooth and half–lidded through the minutes, through the songs. Julia had had a change of clothes in the car but Holly had her work blouse slung over her shoulder and was sweating in her sleek blush-colored camisole underneath. Her neck shined. For just an alarming second Julia thought about backing her into that dark corner, touching her, making her gasp under her mouth — she wondered, if she made her come hard enough could it make all the lights around them flicker and explode.</p><p>For just a breathless minute, she believed in that enough to be afraid of it.</p><p>What did end up happening was they finally made it to Julia’s apartment to break out the real drinks and sat on the bed barely paying attention to something on Netflix, squeaky with laughter as they traded stories which, even at that point, carefully averted the past. They drank until the mattress increasingly cushioned their dizzy inertia, and soon enough there was a numbed silence as they were both falling asleep.</p><p>What happened was Julia opened her eyes in the earliest gloaming light and saw the back of Holly’s neck next to her. She thought that maybe even after all these years she could still tell the difference between her tired breathing and her sleep breathing. She had her own kind of breathing for what it felt like to think this. She closed her eyes, steadying herself. She inched forward through the space between them, her mind lighting in a kind of prayer, and pressed that wish with her mouth between Holly’s shoulder blades.</p><p>When Holly didn’t stir, she thought she’d gotten it wrong, that there wasn’t anyone listening. But after a moment a hand reached for her arm and brought it around a narrow waist, Holly half-consciously pulling Julia’s body around hers for warmth.</p><p>The newness of it, mystifying, made her close her eyes again. Maybe this would work for them: start with the newest thing, the least betrayal-stained thing to reconcile, and work their way back until they couldn’t anymore. At least they were shakily together in the attempt. At least there was a strange small hope in the back of her mind, though, that the worst of it would only matter less and less.</p><p>“Stop thinking,” Holly mumbled, drowsy, and she fell quickly back to sleep. Julia helplessly followed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for making this exchange happen, Ashling; I very much hope you like this.</p><p>The title is taken from Margaret Atwood's poem "Variation on the Word Sleep."</p></blockquote></div></div>
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